When Love Breaks (8 page)

ELORA

W
e get back from our outing with groceries in hand. After putting them away, I begin to make him lunch.

“Not eating with me today?” he asks.

“No, I can’t. I have an exam coming up, and I haven’t studied at all,” I say, as I place my books on the table.

“What’s the test on?”

“Pharmacology.”

“Ah. I remember that. It’s nothing but tedious memorization of facts, as I recall.”

I snort.

“You’ve got that right. I don’t know how I’m going to remember it all.”

He contemplates my predicament.

“How about this. You eat lunch with me, and I’ll help you study afterward.”

“Why would you want to torture yourself?” I say with another snort.

“Let’s just say, I’m a glutton for punishment.”

“Clearly.”

I agree, then make another ham sandwich.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Oh, come on now. It can’t be that bad.”

“Yes, it really can, but go ahead. I’m ready.”

“Okay. What’s a salicylate?”

“Salicylate,” I repeat. “Better known as Aspirin, salicylates treat inflammation, reduce fevers, and help relieve pain. It’s also good for breaking up blood clots during a heart attack.”

“Good, but that one was easy. How about this one. What are nitrates?”

“Nitrates are drugs that treat heart pain, also spasms of the heart vasculature. It works by dilating the blood vessels; basically opening them up to let blood flow through better. It’s most commonly known as Nitroglycerin.”

“See, you’re good at this stuff.”

“No, I’m really not. You’re just going easy on me to make me feel better.”

“What?” he laughs. “I wouldn’t do that. Besides, what purpose would that serve? If I went easy on you, you might get cocky and think you know everything.”

I giggle.

“Hardly. I feel so overwhelmed with this stuff sometimes that I wonder why I enrolled. It can be really hard,” I admit.

“I know how you feel. I was the same way. I thought if I learned about one more thing, I might push other, more basic, knowledge out of my head, and maybe I’d forget how to tie my own shoes.”

I laugh at his joke, but then remember his lack of feet, so I stop.

“Sorry,” I say.

“What are you sorry for?”

“For laughing. I sometimes forget you don’t have feet.”

He looks down.

“Oh, my God! You’re right!” he says, mocking me. My mouth twists.

“Funny.”

“It’s no big deal. If you can’t laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at?”

“I suppose.” My mind wanders to his injury. I want to ask him about it, but I don’t think he’ll tell me.

“So, what made you want to become a nurse?”

Well, that question came out of the blue.

“Um…I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to help people.”

“Save the world, one patient at a time? Sounds noble.”

“Not really,” I say.

“Not everyone can do the job that you’re studying for. Are you squeamish?” I shake my head. “Good, because you’ll see some really nasty stuff.”

“Like what?”

“You really want to know?”

“Uh…okay,” I say reluctantly.

He scrutinizes my expression.

“You know, maybe I’ll save the horror stories for later. There are lots of good things that happen too. It’s those times that make you glad you chose to work in the medical field.”

I smile, grateful he didn’t go into detail.

“Yeah. I’m sure I’m going to like it.”

I hope.

Weeks have flown by as if they were days. Logan and I have found a rhythm, and I’m proud to say he’s a different man than he was when I first met him. He still gets angry at my gentle nudging, but I now know that’s just how he is.

As I walk into Logan’s house, it’s oddly quiet. He’s usually out of bed and dressed by this hour of the morning, not so today.

“Logan?” I call out as I remove one of my shoes. “Are you up yet?”

I no sooner remove the second one, when I hear a garbled scream coming from down the hall.

“Oh, God,” I whisper as I drop the shoe onto the floor and sprint toward his bedroom. For a split second, I hesitate going in, but then, I burst through the door anyway. I find a tormented Logan, still in bed, clutching his covers and burying his face in them. I rush to his side, visually sweeping across his body, looking for the source of his agony.

“My leg!” he cries out. “Something’s wrong!”

Immediately, I throw back the blanket, not knowing what I might find, and search for anything that could give me clue as to what’s going on, but I see nothing.

“Where?” I ask, frantic to relieve his pain.

“My ankle! It’s…being crushed!”

Confused, I observe his anguished expression.

“What?”

“
My ankle!
” he screams again, while reaching down trying to grasp it.

“Logan, you don’t have an ankle,” I say sadly.

Tears threaten as I realize what this is. Logan is experiencing phantom pains. His brain still believes his natural legs are intact, therefore it’s tricking him into thinking he feels pain in them.

I cover my mouth, trying to hold it together, when all I really want to do is wail. As if he hasn’t been through enough, now he has to endure this. I’m no longer able to hold them back, and they stream down my face, seemingly without end.

“Oh, God, Logan. It’s okay,” I say, as I sit next to him, cradling him in my arms. “Shh. It’ll stop soon.” His entire body is tense as he lies against me, allowing me to comfort him. Resting his head against my chest, he rides it out, until the pain relents. I feel his body begin to relax, so I loosen up the hold I have on him. After a few minutes, he lets go of me, rolls onto his back, and lies, panting and breathless, on the mattress. Sweat trickles down his brow as he stares up at the ceiling. I’m not sure what to say, so I wait for him to break the silence.

“That was intense…and real,” he says, still winded, then he looks over at me. I wipe the remnants of emotion from my face and nod.

“Are you okay?” I ask softly.

He nods.

“Yeah. I think so.” He rubs his face with both hands. “Shit. I don’t want to experience
that
again anytime soon.”

“I’m sorry.”

He sighs heavily as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

“They told me about this…” He looks back at the ceiling. “It’s like it was happening all over again. I could feel the bones in my ankle being compressed then popping as they—” I gasp, and he looks over. His sincere expression is an apology for saying too much. “Sorry,” he says when he realizes he was thinking out loud.

“It’s okay. I’ve just never thought too much about the actual mechanics of what happened to you. It’s hard to imagine.”

“Yeah. Thankfully, I don’t remember much.”

I’ve always wondered, but we’ve never really discussed the circumstances behind his amputation. That conversation will have to keep for another time, however. I can tell he’s relived it enough for today.

“Thank you,” he says, taking me by surprise.

“For what?”

“For helping me get through it.”

“You’re welcome,” I say with a small smile, which erupts into a huge grin, the moment I turn my back to him and start walking out of his room.

Yeah. I wasn’t entirely selfless.

7

ELORA

L
ogan heads for the bathroom to take a shower as I clean up from our meal. I reach across the counter for a glass when I bump into, and knock over, a plastic jar of peanuts. They bounce and scatter onto the floor, and I moan in frustration.

“Damn it!” I say, as I drop to my knees and begin to pick them up.

“Everything okay out there?” I hear Logan ask.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine.” I reassure him.

Standing up, I move toward the hall closet to retrieve the broom and dust pan. As I open the door, several things tumble forward, taking me by surprise, and make me yelp.

“Elora?” Logan’s concerned voice calls out again.

“I’m good. I’ve just been attacked by a broom.” I giggle at my luck.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I say, realizing he can’t hear me. “I’ll talk to you when you’re done.”

“Huh?”

I roll my eyes and laugh.

“I said,
happy showering
.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

Smiling and shaking my head, I bend forward to pick up the fallen objects. I’m stuffing things anywhere they’ll fit, when I soon discover a crutch. Then, I find a second one, along with a cane. How odd. The crutches hardly seem used and the cane still has a tag on it. Who’s are these? Maybe, one of them had broken a leg a while back and never got rid of the assistive devices. I hear the water shut off, so I hurriedly stuff the remainder of the items back into the closet and shut the door.

“Elora?” Logan says through the closed bathroom door.

“Yeah?”

“What were you trying to tell me?”

“Oh, nothing. I spilled some peanuts and was looking for a broom.”

“Oh…Oh! Wait, I’ll get it for you,” he says in a rush.

“It’s okay. I found where you keep it.” It’s then I realize I forgot to get it out, so I open the door, more carefully this time, just as the bathroom door swings open. My head swivels to see Logan in nothing more than a towel, and my jaw goes slack.

“Oh, my God,” I whisper unintentionally. I know the polite thing would be to look away, but…I can’t seem find the correct muscles to do it. His upper body glistens from the water droplets he has yet to dry. His damp hair is messy…and sexy. My eyes automatically lower to his abs, which are tight and well defined. And then, I look at the towel, which is neatly wrapped around his waist. It doesn’t cover much as I can see most of his thighs.
Damn my eyes
. I urge them to look away, but they disobey me and stare a little too long. He clears his throat, and my embarrassed cheeks heat like they never have before. I quickly close my eyes, in hopes that he didn’t see my blatant gawking.

“Um…”

Um? That’s all he’s got?

Who am I kidding? I don’t have much more than that.

“You…um…surprised me,” I mutter, looking at the floor and covering my cheeks. “I’ll just get the broom and clean up the mess.” I don’t even bother looking into the closet when I reach in and grasp the first pole-like object I feel. “I’ll be right back…I mean, not
right
back. I’m going to go and get your nuts—I
mean
the peanuts…that I spilled…in the kitchen…while you were showering. Not that I was thinking about you showering. I just…” I exhale.

Yeah. Smooth.

I open one eye and peek up at him to assess the damage.

“Are you sure you won’t be right back?” he says with a smirk. “That’s not a broom you have in your hand.”

I look down to find I’m holding one of the crutches.

“Oh,” I say, then reopen the closet and exchange the crutch for the broom. “I got it now.” I smile awkwardly, then turn on my heel,
so
ready to exit this humiliating ordeal.

When he reemerges from the hall, he’s dressed in sweats and a t-shirt. His hair is combed back but still slightly damp. I admonish myself silently at the details I take in regarding his appearance. I shake my head, signaling to myself to back off.

“So, you’ve cleaned up the mess, I see. The broom worked better than the crutch would have, don’t you think?” he teases.

I purse my lips at him.

“Ha! Very funny,” I say sarcastically. “Who else, but you, keeps a spare set of crutches in a broom closet—emphasis on
broom
.” I cross my arms in front of my chest to show my disapproval.

He laughs.

“I suppose you have a point there.”

“Why do you have them anyway?” I ask, all kidding aside.

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck.

“Well, it was going to be a surprise, but…” He looks up almost apologetically. “I’ve been using them.”

Using them? How?

“What do you mean?”

“I mean. It’s the first step in gaining back my independence. Elora, I got my first set of prosthetic legs.”

I feel my face go from strained and curious to shocked.

“What? Why didn’t you tell me? How long have you had them?”

“It’s only been a couple of days, and I was going to tell you, but I wanted to be a little more coordinated on them before you had to see me use them.” He shrugs an apology.

“Oh, my God, Logan. This is huge! I can’t believe you did this!” I’m so excited for him that I find myself clapping like some sort of circus animal performer. He smiles shyly. “Please! Show me what you can do!”

His face falls as he shakes his head.

“No. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not ready for you to see me fall on my face just yet.”

“Logan—”

“I’m serious.”

Bravely, I squat down in front of him, holding onto his chair.

“Please?” I’m hoping my sincere expression will soften his heart enough to let me help him learn to walk again.

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck again. He seems to be contemplating his answer.

“I don’t know.” He looks at me again, so I use my expression to silently beg him. “Ugh! You’re impossible. Fine. I’ll show you how well I can fall.” I squeal and grin from ear to ear. “Just don’t expect much. I’ve only been on them a few times with Michael helping me.”

“I promise. I’ll expect the worst. I’m guessing you won’t even make it to a standing position.” I smirk, and he smirks back.

“Thanks.”

After retrieving his prosthetic legs from under his bed, he holds them out for my inspection. They look very mechanical, in that the replacement shin is a metal rod, and the foot looks as though it was once on a mannequin. He then takes out two, sock-like liners. There’s a small pin protruding out from the ends, and I’m guessing that’s what makes the prosthetic stay in place. He pulls up his pant legs, and rolls the gel liner onto his right, residual limb. It’s hard for me to see his scars and not want to touch them, to ease the pain he must have endured. The scars are pink, and I wonder if they still hurt him. When I look at his face, he’s already looking at me. He’s wary.

“They don’t hurt much anymore, the scars I mean. Although, the new legs do irritate me a bit. They’re hot and sweaty at times, and it’s hard to scratch an itch underneath all this stuff. It’s a lot to get used to,” he says by way of explanation.

“I wasn’t staring,” I lie.

“It’s okay. I know you’ve not really had a chance to see what’s left of my legs. I’m not exactly the type to brag about them.”

I nod, not really knowing how to respond. We’ve always had humor to dispel an awkward moment, but now is definitely not the time for that. He continues with the second, sock-like sleeve, then reaches for the artificial limb. He dons one, then the other, then shifts them around a bit until he feels as though they’re on properly. He then looks up at me with apprehension and sighs.

“Here we go. Hold the crutches, until I’m ready to take them.” I nod, letting him know I’m paying very close attention to his every command.

Scooting forward a bit in his wheelchair, he positions his new legs directly underneath him. He nods at the crutches, so I hand them over. Taking in a deep breath and exhaling forcefully, he pushes himself up from the chair. I’m holding my breath in anticipation of what might happen. Shakily, although not as much as I thought, he stands, then balances, on his new limbs. I’m frozen in place, waiting for any sign that he might topple off to one side or the other. He steps onto them a few times; I guess to make sure they’re on tight enough and, after hearing a few clicks, he looks satisfied. Then, once he’s confident his balance is in check, he peers over at me, smiling.

“What do you think? Am I taller than you thought I was?”

Taking my cues from him, relief washes over me, and I grin back at him.

“Much.” My response is breathy, and I realize it’s because I’m still nervous for him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good. Want to see me walk a bit?” I nod rapidly, and he turns his focus to the floor in front of him. Slowly, his right foot moves, then his left. He continues this way until he’s reached the kitchen table. Then, turning around, he makes his way back toward his chair. I place both hands over my face splitting grin. “Well?”

“It’s amazing,” I say quietly, as if a loud noise might knock him over. “You’re amazing.” His smile is triumphant…and beautiful. “How much have you been practicing this?”

“They told me to use them for one hour, then off for one hour, and keep alternating like that until I get used to them. But, you know what?”

“What?”

“It’s not as bad as I’d imagined. It’s not the best thing I’ve ever had to do, but it’s definitely not the worst either.” His grin broadens. “Elora, I can
do
this. I think I really can do this.” His triumphant expression warms my heart.

“Without you, I’d have no motivation to do anything. Without you pushing me—no,
badgering
me, to fit into a world that so clearly wanted me not to survive, I wouldn’t be in this position…literally.” He turns slightly to come face to face with me and for the first time since we’ve met, he’s taller than me. I look up into his thankful eyes. Then, propping his crutch securely under his arm, he reaches out and touches my cheek. My eyes close automatically as I feel the warmth from his fingers graze my skin, and I lean ever so slightly into his touch. My heart races at the wayward thoughts, which run through my head, and, for a moment, I’m lost in my own imagination. “Thank you,” he says and, when I open my eyes, we’re almost nose to nose.

Holy shit. I can hardly remember how to drag in a breath. I feel as though the room has suddenly become a vacuum, and all the air has been sucked out. Is he going to kiss me? Oh, God, he might actually be going to kiss me. Should I kiss him back?
Should
I kiss him back? It’s then that the proverbial bucket of cold water is thrown into the mix, and the word
client
rattles around us. I suck in a huge gulp of air and step back a bit, trying, successfully I think, to put an emotional and physical distance between us. The momentary wounded expression on his face all but kills me, but he recovers, as I’m sure he realizes what almost happened. He steps backward, stumbling a bit, but steadies himself perfectly.

“I’m…uh…” he stutters, then stops.

His loss for words is mirrored by me, and we stand paralyzed for what seems like an eternity. Finally, the silence is broken.

“Elora…I…I’m sorry…I don’t know what came over me.” His breaths are labored, making this situation even more dire. “Please…” He bows his head and shakes it marginally. “Forgive me.” He looks back at me for…what? A response, no doubt.

Say something.

“Um…no, I mean, yeah. There’s nothing to forgive. It’s a great accomplishment. You’re happy. I’m happy
for
you. It’s all good,” I lie, knowing full well I want him, but he’s the one man on this planet, right now, that I can’t have. “We’re good,” I reiterate, begrudgingly. And now, I know, I’m in trouble. I take another step away from him as he sits back in his chair. For the rest of the day, we’re oddly professional, which makes me both satisfied and heartbroken simultaneously.

Another week passes, and Logan and I have gotten into a routine. Every afternoon, after we eat lunch, he and I go for a walk around his neighborhood. The practice and exercise is good for him and, each day, we lengthen the walk by fifteen minutes or so.